Someone to Care
by MovePeonyMove
Summary: Stiles and Malia can wake up from their reverie, but it's harder to wake up from a nightmare. (Stalia one-shot; comfort)


**A/N: This is a sequel to **_**Someone to Share**_** because I felt like there was more to be said. Leave me a review if you enjoyed it! Happy shipping!**

The gap between the curtains allows a thin streak of light to land on Stile's face, across his eyes. The heat, blotches of red and yellow behind his eyelids awaken him. He opens his eyes lazily, then shuts them violently, his hand rising instinctively to provide shade. Stiles groans, surveys the scene. A mess of light brown hair tickles his chest and shoulder.

Malia.

Stiles gasps, the previous night coming back to him in pieces, overwhelming and unbelievable. He looks down at the girl lying at his side, her hand pressing against his ribcage, lips slightly parted. Something stirs deep within his abdomen.

He adjusts his arm, numb from being pressed into the couch the whole night. Or at least the part of it that they slept through. The mess of light brown hair shifts.

"Mm," Malia murmurs, taking a deep breath. "Mm, Stiles?"

"Uh, yeah," he says, "that's me right here. Stiles."

She slides her hand up his chest, his skin shivering upon contact.

"This couch is really comfortable," she says, raising her head towards his, "or is it you?" She flashes him a charming smile.

He licks his lips. "Well you're used to uh, sleeping in a cave so-"

She purses her lips; her nails lightly grazing his skin.

"Is it weird that I don't want to get up?"

"No," Stiles says, grinning, "Not at all. This is a great couch."

She pulls forward, places a chaste kiss on his lips and he leans into her, wants more, but she has pulled away.

"So last night," he says, groaning as he attempts to sit upright. Malia shifts so that she's lying against his chest, all soft skin and tangly hair. "Is this real?"

Malia smiles, drags her hand down his chest, reaches out to kiss him behind the ear. "It's real if you want it."

"Yeah," he says, "I mean, yeah I definitely want it."

"Good," she whispers, her teeth grazing his jawline. Stiles lets out a throaty moan, envelops her in his arms. Her breathing quickens, heart beats frantically against her chest.

He can feel it, like a wild animal trying to escape its cage. Like Malia escaping her guilt by not shifting for years, like Stiles, imprisoned in a dream like state, watching his friends die, over and over until sunrise.

But he hadn't dreamed about it this night, didn't think about it until now. And even that is getting rather difficult because Malia's hands are on his neck, pulling him down towards her, noses touching and lips still swollen from last night, waiting patiently for him to kiss them.

And he does, slowly, tenderly. His hands grasp at her hair, support her head as he climbs closer, her weight on his chest making it hard to breathe, or maybe it's the fact that he's so overwhelmed, so aroused.

Malia's hands pull on his hair, slide down his neck, knead his tense shoulders. She tastes like a sex and sleep, a generally unpleasant combination, but in that moment it's the best thing Stiles has ever tasted. His hands tangle in her hair, pull her head back so he can kiss down her neck, feeling the hum of her internal moans on the skin.

The sound of a key in the door brings them out of their reverie. Stiles' eyes grow wild, mouth falls wide open.

"Shit," he breathes as Malia climbs off of him instinctively, drags him by the arm down the hallway.

It takes a minute for Sheriff Stilinski to come in, to survey the scene. Stiles prays that he doesn't notice anything, perhaps a loose sock or something else they left in the scramble. He gazes at Malia, her back against the closet, grinning.

"I'm gonna go try to talk my way out of this," he says. "You stay here, really quiet."

"Quiet," Malia echoes. "I can do quiet."

He pulls his shirt on, rushes to button it up, heart beating frantically against his ribcage.

"Hey dad!" He says, tone panicky. "Uh, didn't hear you come in."

His dad's eyes narrow. "Stiles, the front door was unlocked."

"I uh, went for a walk last night. Forgot to lock it."

"Okay, but be careful." He says. "I don't like knowing all these supernatural things can get in."

"Dad," Stiles laughs shakily. "They can get through the wall if they have to."

The sheriff frowns.

"So, uh, how was the night shift?" Stiles says, straightening out his wrinkled shirt.

"As usual," he says, walking around the living room, surveying. "Nothing to comment on, for now."

"Okay well, I'm gonna be in my room, uh studying." Stiles lies, hand rubbing the back of his neck. "I've got that big test, the uh geography test, I told you about."

"Yeah okay son," he smiles, patting him on the shoulder.

Stiles walks to his room so fast he nearly trips on the rug. Just as he closes the door, Malia presses herself against him, crashes into his lips, but no matter how much he wants this, wants her, he pulls away.

"Dude," he says. "My dad's in the house. We almost got caught."

"Except we didn't," she says, pulling at the hem of his shirt. "I'll be quiet, I promise."

She presses her lips to his, pulls away. "Please?"

Stiles frowns, "I want this so bad, but I told him I'm studying. He's gonna come in to check on me and well, you know."

"What if we find someplace else,"

"Where?"

"My house?" Malia suggests.

"I don't wanna risk it with your dad. He's got his traps and guns and who knows what else."

"Derek's loft?"

Stiles snorts loudly, blushing. "I don't think he'll be okay with us invading his territory. Especially for that," he shifts his eyes.

"The woods?"

"The woods?" Stiles repeats, aghast. "The woods where your family died?"

Malia's eyes grow dark, hands drop to her sides. It's as though she had forgotten about that, at least for a moment. The wave of guilt washes over her, drowns her.

"Hey," Stiles says, his hands on her face. "I'm sorry I brought this up. I'm sorry-"

"No," she shakes her head. "You're right. I should probably go."

She moves away from him slowly, as though she doesn't want to, but has to. Stiles watches as she opens the window, climbs through it, agile and flexible.

"Wait," he says. "I didn't want it to end like this,"

"Nobody does, Stiles." She says, "You know that."

Stiles' sits down on the bed, puts his face in his hands, breathes in and out. In and out. Malia wasn't talking about his screw up. She was talking about something else.

Something he knew all too well.

"Studying not working out?" the sheriff asks, watching television from the dining room table, groaning.

"Yeah, no." Stiles says, running his hand through his hair. "Can't seem to get anything through to my head."

"Maybe you need someone to help you?"

"Don't think anyone can."

"Why don't you just try, give them a chance." He says.

"Don't know if they'll give _me_ a chance," Stiles says earnestly.

"I think they already did,"

"Wait, what?" Stiles says. "What are you talking about?"

The sheriff laughs. "What are you talking about?"

Stiles' eyebrows furrow and a long moment of silence commences. The way his dad is looking at him, hiding a small smile. makes Stiles suspect that he knows something. "I'm gonna be back in a bit."He says, rushing out.

He's in his car, hands trembling, his insides burning with anxiety. He drives, as though on autopilot, hands on the wheel but his thoughts somewhere far away. He was going to drive to her house, ask her father to see her, to explain how stupid he was, comfort her. But he surprises himself when he stops by the woods, walks through the beautiful greenery until he's in front of the den. A strip of yellow police tape is still waving in the summer breeze.

"Malia?" he shouts, focusing his eyes in the darkness within the den. He had forgotten his flashlight. "Malia, can we talk?"

There's a growl and he whips around to see at the end of her shift, dropping to the ground, naked and vulnerable.

"I'm still really bad at shifting," she admits, picking herself up. She crosses her arms in front of her breasts, looks away. "I'm sorry I freaked out."

"No," Stiles says, approaching her. "I should be apologizing."

She shakes her head, looks him in the eye. "Nobody should be. At least not this time."

Stiles kneels next to her, takes her in his arms, naked and shivering. His hands rub her back in circles, her face hidden in the crook of his neck, her breath tickling his skin.

"Do you have any clothes with you?" He asks, trying once again to pick her up, but failing. "You're shivering out of your mind."

"Somewhere," she murmurs, her arms wrapped around his torso, holding on so tight it's almost painful. "But can we just stay like this for a while?"

"Yeah," Stiles says, placing a light kiss on her shoulder.


End file.
